


The Boy With The Lion Tattoo

by GoodGollyMissYollie (Yollie183)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Antisocial Personality Disorder, Anxiety Attacks, Asphyxiation, Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Illness, Pedophilia, Phandom Big Bang 2015, Rape, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, TW Vomiting, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5089787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yollie183/pseuds/GoodGollyMissYollie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Lester is a hacker, sued for libel. <br/>Dan Howell is the lawyer hired to defend him.</p><p>Written for the Phandom Big Bang 2015</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Oodles of thanks to my PBB team:  
> Beta: [HTML Library](http://html-library.tumblr.com/)  
> Artist: [Rainbowlion429](http://rainbowlion429.tumblr.com/)   
> [Awesome art](https://t.co/oT5twhBvPf)

**‘Is something wrong?’ she said**

**‘Well of course there is**

**You’re still alive,’ she said**

**Oh, and do I deserve to be?**

**Is that the question?**

**And if so... if so... who answers?.. who answers?**

**I... I’m still alive**

**Hey, I, I’m still alive...**

-   **Alive, Pearl Jam**

 

“Mr Lester, this is the police, open up!”

Phil froze.

_This couldn’t be._

Another knock. “Mr Lester, if you don’t open the door, we will break it down.”

 

Phil was galvanized into action. Typing furiously, he started a wipe of all his drives. The knocking turned to banging. Phil threw a handful of SD cards into the microwave, pressing buttons rapidly.

 _Just like in the movies,_ Phil thought hysterically. The banging became a resounding crash. Two men in uniforms were suddenly there. Too close. Too real. He blinked black spots from his vision. Phil scrambled hurriedly to face them. His foot – clumsy as ever – got caught in a cable, pulling a speaker to the ground. The impact broke it apart, plastic insides spilling across the floor. Phil gazed at the men, their standard-issue handguns pointed half-heartedly at his chest. His hands splayed out at his sides in a useless protective gesture.

 

How? How did anyone find him? He was always so careful. Never arrogant. This couldn’t be. The only person who knew who he was... but of course...

 

Betrayal tasted bitter on his tongue, like burnt sugar. Phil swallowed, stood like a doll as the men cuffed his wrists behind his back, their words drowned out by the rushing in his ears.

 

Everything had gone so well the previous night.

 

_Phil walked down Victoria street, hood pulled up against the light rain_ _falling over a dark, overcast London. He sidestepped all the people, wearing dark business suits, talking on their mobile phones, texting their mistresses and kids and husbands and living their lives. His iPod shuffled to Muse, he adjusted his ear buds, adjusted the volume of the music blaring in his ears, turned into a warm coffee shop._

_“Can I get a caramel macchiato, please?”_

_He collected his coffee, sat at a small table, pulled his Mac Book from his backpack. He used the coffee shop’s wifi to log into Facebook. Not his account. The account of a client._

_Gary Unwin. Aged 32. Married. Sleeping with his daughter’s best friend. He wanted all digital evidence removed. Phil sighed. Why send each other naked selfies if you didn’t want to be caught?_

_He clicked, typed, clicked, drank some coffee, typed and ordered a danish. It was maple-pecan, tasty. He took another sip of coffee and looked out of the window. Behind the sulforous glow of streetlamps, the sky had darkened to a dull black, the stars hidden by the clouds and smog. Phil closed his laptop. He’d done all he could to remove any traces of Gary and Thomas’ relationship from the world wide web. He knew it wasn’t 100% successful, but he’d need nothing less than a magic wand to do that. Sometimes, Phil wished he had a magic wand. Other times, Phil wished he had enough petrol and matches for the entire human race._

_Phil left the coffee shop in a gloomy mood, scowling in annoyance as he stepped in a puddle of rainwater on the pavement, soaking his shoes. He sloshed through side streets. Kept his head down. Blocking out as much of rainy London as possible._

_Twenty-eight minutes later, he knocked on the front door of Gary Unwin’s flat. The man opened the door, his face instantly blanching as he saw Phil._

_“My payment,” Phil said quietly._

_“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Unwin stuttered. He disappeared, leaving the door ajar. Phil heard him rummage, then footsteps. To and fro. Then the door opened again and a brown envelope was shoved toward him. He took it. Checked inside. Turned on his heel. Strode away. At the street corner he hailed a cab, giving the address of the office building where he worked. During the drive, he put in earphones, turning up the volume to block out everything else._

_There’s a shadow just behind me_

_Shrouding every step I take_

_He tapped the screen of his iPhone. Rapidly replying to encoded messages, trying to care about what they said. At the offices of Derry Security, Phil jumped hastily from the cab. Entered the building using his keycard. Took the lift to the ninth floor, turned left into a large space filled with cubicles. He sat down behind the desk of cubicle thirty-three. Grimaced at the crumbs scattered across the computer’s keyboard. He typed in the password, scrolling through emails until he found it._

_“Idiot,” he murmured. Were all his colleagues really this clueless? It took him less than two hours to plant a tiny bug that allowed him to control this computer from his own laptop, and gave him access to ‘secure’ files,  that ordinary employees like him weren’t supposed to know about. He scanned through the bulk of the information, copying what he needed._

_It was 03:32am when Phil finally entered his flat. He dumped all the stolen information on a website frequented by people who gave a shit about such things, then went to bed. He slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares where he was a line of code, helpless as he was rewritten. Over and over. Until, eventually, he couldn’t recognise himself anymore._

_Phil woke up at eight-thirty, showered and got a bowl of Frosted Shreddies, and sat at his desk. Three HD screens dominated the view. Two showed half-written programs, the centre one an anime. Light was just realizing the power of the Death Note, when a loud knock sounded from the door. Phil jumped up and spilled some milk on his jeans. He angrily put the bowl down, getting to his feet when the second knock came, this time accompanied by a voice._

Now here he was, struggling to keep his breathing even, in the back of a police car.


	2. II

**Somehow moet ons net partykeer bloei om te sien of ons nog lewe. Want ons word ‘n black hole. En niemand sal ons mis as ons nie daar is nie.**

**(Somehow, we have to bleed sometimes to see if we’re still alive. Because we become a black hole. And no one will miss us if we’re not there.)**

-   **BreinBliksem, Fanie Viljoen**

 

Dan Howell swiped his key card through the slot in the stationery cupboard door, a frown pulling his eyebrows down. Any day that started with an agonizing lack of Post-It notes was doomed to be miserable. There were pink ones, blue ones, yellow ones, but no white ones. Dan sighed and took a packet of blue Post-Its and two black pens. He started to close the door, paused, and took a black Sharpie. He had just closed the door behind him, when a sharp voice spoke up; “Dan!”

 

He turned to face the red-haired paralegal.

“Dan, he wants to see you in his office.”

Dan nodded, heading toward the large corner-office where the firm’s managing partner sat behind a huge mahogany desk covered in stacks of legal papers. He knew why he was there. They were going to give him the case. The one everyone has been talking about for the last couple of days. Dan wasn’t ready for this. Sure, he was one of the youngest associates at the firm, but what possible reason could they have for giving him this case? It was too big, surely, for him to handle, wasn’t it?

 

Mr Gardener didn’t seem to agree.

“Dan,” Gardener smiled toothily. “I’m sure you know why I asked to see you.”

“Yes,” Dan said. He sat down at Gardener’s gesture, balancing his stationery awkwardly on his lap. “I think I know.”

 

“This isn’t the kind of case you usually handle.” Didn’t Dan know it. “But it’s a good chance for you to get a little out of your comfort zone.”

“By defending a hacker?” Dan tried to keep his voice polite, adding; “Sir?”

“Well the hacking charges didn’t stick. It’s only libel.”

Dan nodded slowly. He tapped his fingertips against his leg.

“This should be an easy win. If his claims turn out to be true, he’ll be free as a bird.” Mr Gardener made flapping motions with his hands.

Dan was too stunned to smile. He was really expected to do this. Oh no.

“Sir, I’ve only been here a few years. Are you sure I have enough experience to deal with this?”

 

Gardener’s eyes narrowed. “Dan, this is your case. You’ll win.” It wasn’t an assurance, it was an order.

“Ye- yes, of course,” Dan nodded, getting up. His Post-Its fell to the floor. He stooped to pick them up, careful not to drop anything else, and left Gardener’s office with his face burning.

 

Dan read through the file in the cab on the way to the police station. Decodyne Industries was suing Philip Lester for libel, after an article had appeared online, accusing them of human and drug trafficking, child labour and fraud. They had traced the article to Lester through an anonymous source, who claimed Lester was a hacker, known online as Strikyr. So far there was no evidence of Lester being Strikyr, but the article itself has been traced back to him. Dan paged through further to Lester’s record. Clean. He didn’t have a criminal record? It didn’t make sense, somehow, to Dan. But that would count in their favour, which was one little ray of sunshine. Dan gave the rest of the paperwork a cursory look-over, closing the file just as the cab pulled up at the police station.


	3. III

**I’m worse at what I do best**

**And for this gift I feel blessed**

**Our little group has always been**

**And always will until the end**

**And I forget just why I taste**

**Oh yeah, I guess it makes me smile**

**I found it hard, it’s hard to find**

**Oh well, whatever, nevermind**

-   **Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana**

 

Dan was kept waiting for half an hour, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair. Finally a constable showed up to take him to see his client. He was led to a stark, cold room, furnished with a steel table and two chairs. Phil Lester sat on one chair, his wrists cuffed and secured to the table with a length of chain. Dan noticed tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves and above his collar. His black shirt was dotted with little skulls. His hair was jet-black, falling forward across his face.

Dan took a deep breath.

“Mr Lester,” Dan said. “My name is Dan Howell. I am your attorney.”

 

Lester looked up, his blue eyes moving across Dan’s face. He didn’t reply, so Dan hesitated a moment before sitting down across from him. He took his time arranging Lester’s file and his notepad in front of him. He clicked his pen twice, then looked at Lester again.

 

“Mr Lester, you’ve been accused of libel by Decodyne Industries, following an article that appeared on Wikileaks that was traced to you.”

“Wrong.” Lester stated quietly.

“Am I?” Dan raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Would you care to explain how I’m wrong?” Dan was warring between annoyance and amusement.

 

“It’s not libel if it’s true.” Lester was dragging the chain to and fro through the metal loop on the table, making a metallic grinding noise.

“There’s no evidence that Decodyne did any of the things in that article,”

Lester shrugged.

“Mr Lester, do you want to spend the next twenty yeas in prison?”

“Obviously not,” Lester mumbled.

“Then let’s work on a _viable_ defence, okay? Your bail hearing is in three days.”

Lester didn’t answer, letting his hands drop to the table.

 

Dan took his silence for assent.

“Good. Now, please tell me everything.”

Blue eyes met Dan’s with a baleful glare. Dan waited.

“I had a guy,” Lester spoke, “a source. He came to me, said something looked weird, fishy. So I had a look and gave the info to someone who promised to expose Decodyne. The next thing I knew, it was on Wikileaks.”

“I need their names.”

“No.”

 

Dan sighed, looking at the scribbled notes he’d taken during Lester’s speech. Three lines. Only three lines, written in his messy left-handed scrawl.

“So none of the allegations against Decodyne were meant to be put online?”

“Not on Wikileaks.”

“Where then?”

“The servers of MI6, the FBI, Interpol.”

“And how would that happen?”

“Ways and means.” Lester lifted a shoulder in a half shrug.

 

Dan sighed again. He checked his watch.

“Wasn’t this important enough to do yourself?” Dan probed. “Why trust someone else?”

“Why indeed?”

“What did you do when you realized what had happened?”

“There wasn’t much I could do.”

“You couldn’t take down the article?”

“I chose not to. Wikileaks isn’t Interpol, but exposure is exposure.”

“And libel is a criminal offence.”

 

Lester didn’t respond.

Dan refrained from sighing a third time.

“How old are you?” Lester suddenly asked.

For a moment Dan considered giving a sarcastic answer, but then thought better of it.

“I’m 24,” he said, flipping over a page in Lester’s file.

“That’s too young for an attorney,” Lester stated.

 

Dan could feel a blush heat his cheeks. “I can show you my licence, if that would make you feel better?”

Lester’s lip quirked in what may have been a smirk.

“Tell me about yourself,” Dan requested, his pen hovering above his notepad.

“I’m sure everything you need to know is right there in that file.” Lester motioned with one hand.

“I want to know the other stuff. The things Decodyne’s lawyers are going to unearth to use against you.”

 

Lester regarded Dan silently for a moment, then closed his eyes.

“I’m twenty-eight. I live alone. I’m bisexual. I’m single. I like lions. I have Antisocial Personality Disorder. I have insomnia sometimes. I don’t like cheese.”

Lester opened his eyes again. Dan regarded him for a second.

“Antisocial Personality Disorder.”

“Apparently.”

“Self-diagnosed?” _Please say yes,_ Dan thought.

“No.”

“Who diagnosed you?”

“Doctor Stanley Uris.”

“An actual doctor?”

“A psychiatrist.”

 

Dan wrote it down. If prosecution found out it might hurt their case.

“Sociopathy,” Lester suddenly said.

Dan looked up. “Sociopathy?”

“The good doctor said I’m a sociopath, not a psychopath.”

Dan wrote that down too.

“You don’t like cheese?” Dan wasn’t sure why he asked.

“It’s unpleasant,” Lester said with a shrug.

 

Dan decided not to pursue the matter. 

“I think the best course of action would be to try and find evidence to prove your allegations,” Dan told his client.

“You’re really twenty-four?” Lester asked. He had his head cocked slightly to the left.

“Yes.” Dan clicked his pen. “I graduated early.”

“Oh.”

“Well, Mr Lester, unless you have more information for me, I’d best get back to the office.”

Lester shook his head.

 

Two hours later, Dan slammed the lid of his Mac Book shut. He shoved his fingers through his hair, silently cursing Lester for being an idiot. How the hell was Dan supposed to defend him if he wouldn’t name his sources?

Dan stood up and stretched, before heading to the tiny office kitchen to make a cup of coffee. He sipped the hot liquid, staring into space.

“Dan!”

 

Dan jumped, spilling coffee on his shirt. He turned to face the person who’d yelled his name, one hand over his heart.

“Emily, you scared me half to death!”

The paralegal shrugged. “I have that number you were looking for.”

“Thank you.” Dan took the slip of paper she held out to him.

Emily frowned at him. “There’s coffee on your shirt.” Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

Dan sighed.

 

He rinsed out his mug, collected his computer and files from his office and left the building. He hailed a cab to take him to his flat.

 

~

 

Phil lay on his bunk, watching the sun set behind the bars on the small window in his cell. His eyed burned, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not tonight, not here.

It was very dark, very late, when Phil heard the footsteps. A shadow fell across his bed, a looming figure blocking the ugly fluorescent light from the hallway. Phil sat up just as his cell door opened with a metallic clang.

It happened in an instant – Phil got to his feet and the man was close, too close, hands pulling a thin cord taught, pulling it across his throat, a body against his back, hands scrambling, uselessly trying to breathe, breathe, breathe breathe BREATHE GODDAMNIT BREATHE YOU WORTHLESS

 

Phil heard screaming, in the distance, barely audible over the blood rushing in his ears. A man’s voice, screaming “Guards!” but stars were dancing in front of Phil’s eyes. Not the stars outside, they couldn’t be, because he was facing a blank, black nothing.

 

Suddenly. Suddenly the pressure was gone. Phil gasped, drawing oxygen into his burning lungs. Down on all fours, he could breathe again, breathe again, breathe. Hands were touching him. Voices talking at him. Phil tried to listen, tried to nod at the right times. Someone helped him to his feet.

“Do you think you can walk?”

Phil nodded.

“We’re taking you to the infirmary.”

Phil nodded again.

“Call my attorney,” Phil said in a hoarse whisper. He took another deep breath.


	4. IV

**When I was a child, I heard voices**

**Some would sing and some would scream**

**You soon find you have few choices**

**I learned the voices died with me**

**When I was a child, I’d sit for hours**

**Staring into open flame**

**Something in it had a power**

**Could barely tear my eyes away**

**All you have is your fire**

**And the place you need to reach**

**Don’t you ever tame your demons**

**But always keep ‘em on a leash**

-   **Arsonist’s Lullabye, Hozier**

 

Dan was woken by his phone ringing. He checked the time before answering. 03:52 AM.

“Hello?”

“Mr Howell, there’s been an incident.”

 

Fourty minutes later, Dan walked into the police station conference room, where Phil Lester was sitting at the long table between two guards.

Dan took a seat opposite him, much like the previous day.

“What happened?”

One of the guards told him how a man, dressed in a stolen uniform, had entered Lester’s cell and attempted to strangle him.

Lester had an angry red lesion across his throat. His hands, unlike their fidgeting earlier, were resting limply on the table. His eyes were trained on Dan’s face, watching him intently.

 

The guard went on to tell him how another man in the holding cell opposite Lester’s had yelled for help, and that they had the attacker in custody. Before Dan could ask any of the dozen questions flooding his mind, the door opened and two men, wearing suits and tired expressions, entered.

 

“Mr Lester,” one of them said, “we are from Hanlon & Keene, the firm representing Decodyne Industries.”

Dan got to his feet, and held out his hand. “Dan Howell. I’m representing Mr Lester in this case.”

Dan shook hands with the men.

“While you’re here,” Dan said, sitting back down, “I have to inform you that Mr Lester’s bail hearing has been moved up.”

“To when?” The men shared a glance.

“Nine AM.”

 

The lawyers from Hanlon & Keene shared another look, this time both frowning.

“I made a couple of calls. You can understand my reluctance to leave my client in holding after tonight’s events.”

“Of course.” Neither of Hanlon & Keene’s lawyers seemed impressed, and Dan shot a quick smile across the table to Phil Lester.

 

At nine o’clock, after hours of waiting at the police station, Dan sat down next to Lester in the courtroom. The judge peered down at them briefly as the opposing counsel started their argument against bail. It boiled down to ‘we’re scared he’ll do it again’.

Then Dan stood up.

“Your Honour, my client did not commit a violent crime, nor did his actions cause harm to another living being. In light of last night’s events, it is obvious that my client is not safe in holding, not will he be any safer in prison.”

“We will take a ten minute recess,” Judge Marsh said. “Counsel, I’d like to see you in my chambers.”

 

Dan followed the judge out of the courtroom, the two Decodyne lawyers – Mr Keene and Mr Rogan – followed on his heels.

“Mr Howell, please recount to me exactly what happened in Phil Lester’s cell last night.” Judge Marsh leaned against her desk.

Dan told her what the guards had told him, ending with their sleepless wait in the conference room until sunrise.

 

She regarded all three lawyers in silence for a long while.

“Will this attack be brought up in the court proceeding at a later date?”

“Of course not,” Mr Rogan said, with half a smirk.

“If it is relevant, yes,” Dan said.

Judge Marsh nodded at Dan. “You may go.”

Dan walked back to his chair. There was a tense silence as they waited for the judge to return to her seat.

“Mr Lester, since you are not accused of a violent crime, and taking into consideration the attempt on your life, I set your bail at one hundred pounds.”

 

Dan breathed a slow sigh of relief, closing his eyes for a moment before turning to Lester. He smiled at the blue eyed man, who seemed just as relieved, despite not returning Dan’s smile.

 

“Have you gotten any information from him?” Dan asked the constable at the police station, motioning in the direction of the cells. He was waiting for Lester to fill out the charge sheet, sign his bail terms and collect his belongings, and decided to get some answers on the attack.

“Who?” The constable glanced over Dan’s shoulder, shifting his weight, eyeing the other constables running around and the lieutenant yelling orders.

“From the man who attacked Phil Lester,” Dan said, rather irritably, “who else?”

“Oh, of course.”

“Well?” Dan prompted, a frown pulling his brows together.

“Well... about that.” The constable was obviously very uncomfortable, not meeting Dan’s eyes. Behind him, someone was yelling about correct procedure. “He’s gone.”

 

“Gone?”

“A guard doing the rounds found his cell empty.”

“What?! How could that happen, exactly?” Dan curled his fingers around the strap on his laptop bag, to keep from shaking the sweating constable.

“We don’t know. The lock wasn’t forced, you see. It had to have been opened with a key.”

 

Dan stared at the constable in mute disbelief until the door on the far side of the hall opened and Phil Lester walked out, hands shoved into the pockets of his black hoodie.

“Come on,” Dan said to him.

 

Lester followed him outside wordlessly, waiting until Dan had hailed a cab and was holding the door open for him to ask; “Where are we going?”

“To my apartment,” Dan said curtly.

“No,” Lester replied, stepping back.

“Mr Lester, please get in the cab,” Dan asked. “I’ll explain why as soon as we’re away from here.”

 

Lester frowned, but got into the car. Dan followed, casting a nervous glance toward the police station as they drove away. The drive was mercifully short. Lester pulled out an iPod, put his earphones in and closed his eyes, only opening them again when they stopped in front of Dan’s apartment building. When they were finally inside Dan’s apartment, with the door locked behind them, Lester turned on him.

 

“Why am I here?”

“The man who attacked you was let out of his cell. He’s gone.”

“So?”

“So? So chances are he wants to finish what he started!”

Lester shrugged. “Why am I here though?”

Dan shook his head in disbelief. “I’m not taking the chance that he might know where you live.”

“He might know where you live.”

“I don’t pay this much rent for the doorman to let just anybody waltz around the building.”

“I don’t have any clothes. Or a toothbrush.”

“Yeah, I know, I wasn’t exactly planning ahead.”

“You were panicking.” Lester’s eyes narrowed.

Dan didn’t answer. Instead he walked past Lester, into the kitchen. “Want some coffee?”


	5. V

**Shut me off**

**I am ready**

**Heart stops**

**I stand alone**

**Can’t be on my own**

**I will make it go away**

**Can’t be here no more**

**Seems this is the only way**

**I will soon be gone**

**These feeling will be gone**

**I am hoping I can find**

**Where to leave my hurt behind**

**Is it always black in space?**

-   **Alone I Break, Korn**

 

It was early evening when – after Lester passively refused to borrow pyjamas from Dan – they took a cab to Lester’s apartment so he could pack a bag. Dan stayed quiet, eyeing Lester’s impressive array of computers and other gadgets. Lester disappeared down the hall, but Dan stayed in the lounge, walking over to a bookcase, overfilled with paperback thrillers, graphic novels and computing books.

 

He picked up a copy of Stephen King’s Different Seasons. It was dog-eared, the yellow pages coming loose from the bent spine. In his palm, it fell open to page 277.

_(if he doesn’t stop pretty soon I’ll ... I’ll ... do ... something.)_

 

Dan closed the book and put in back on the shelf, turning to read the titles on the stacks of videogames on the TV stand.

Lester trudged into the lounge, a large black canvas backpack in his hand. He started pulling books and gadgets off their shelves, dumping them haphazardly into the bag. With a final look around the room, he zipped the bag closed and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

 

Back at Dan’s apartment, Lester sat on a stool in the kitchen, watching as Dan made stir-fry.

“Is there anything you don’t eat, except cheese?” Dan asked.

Lester shook his head.

 

For the following two days, until their next court date, Dan Howell and Phil Lester talked about the events leading up to Phil’s arrest. They talked about finding evidence to substantiate the allegations made against Decodyne.

 

And they talked about the attack.

“It was Decodyne,” Phil stated, taking a sip of coffee.

Dan shifted on the sofa, bringing one hand to his forehead. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“Okay, so you hypothesize that Decodyne is in fact an engine of death and misery, and that they sent an assassin after you?”

“No,” Phil leaned forward. “Decodyne knows that we’ll be digging for proof, so no me, no trail, they walk away clean.”

“This isn’t a movie, Phil.”

“I know that.” Phil was frowning at Dan.

“What?”

“You’ve never called me Phil before.”

Dan shrugged and checked the clock on the wall. “It’s late and we need to be in court at ten.” He got up, collecting their mugs to take to the kitchen. “Goodnight, Phil.”

“Goodnight, Dan.”

 

Dan couldn’t get to sleep. He hit his pillow with a fist, grumbling as he turned onto his back. Finally, with a groan, he gave up and got out of bed. He stumbled out of his bedroom and down the hall, rubbing his eyes. He turned the corner into the kitchen, stifling a yawn, only to find Phil sitting on the counter, eating a handful of dry cereal.

“What are you doing?” Dan asked.

“I wanted a snack.”

 

Dan opened the fridge and took out the milk. He turned to see Phil holding a glass out to him.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You can’t sleep either?” Dan asked as he poured milk.

“I don’t sleep much. Or often.” Phil ate another frosted Shreddie.

Dan took a sip of his milk, leaning against the counter opposite Phil.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

Phil shook his head. “Not really.”

Dan smiled.

 

Phil set aside the cereal box.

“Do you think they’ll ask about my... childhood?”

“Maybe, why?”

Phil didn’t reply. Instead he slid off the counter, the move bringing him so close that Dan could see his pupils dilate when he blinked. Dan’s breath caught when he didn’t move away.

“Get some sleep, Dan.” Phil turned and walked away. Dan heard Phil’s bedroom door close and decided to go back to his own.

 

Dan fidgeted nervously as the cab neared the courthouse. Beside him, Phil again had his earphones in, staring out the window. It had taken a lot of persuading to get Phil to wear a suit, but Dan had to admit he looked good. Dan cleared his throat, quickly turning his attention to the buildings they were passing.

 

With Dan half a step behind Phil, they walked into the courtroom. Phil’s fists were balled tight and Dan could see fingernail marks on his palms when he finally unclenched them.

They sat down, and Dan took out his files, arranging them on the table along with a notepad and pens.

Phil gently tapped him on the shoulder, motioning toward the notepad. Dan pushed it in his direction, pursing his lips when his client picked up a pen, and started drawing something. Phil didn’t so much as look up when the judge entered the court.

"Phil," Dan hissed, getting to his feet, "stand up."

Phil got up, one hand going to his tie, tugging at it. Dan turned his attention to the judge as the sat back down.

"We will hear opening statements today," Judge Marsh said. "Mr Keene, you may begin."

Keene stood up. At his table, Rogan and Decodyne's CTO, Edward Corcoran, were exchanging confident grins. Dan felt his mouth go dry.

 

“Judge Marsh, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, our client, Decodyne Industries is a respected corporation, that has existed for the better part of four decades. Aside from the company’s diligent philanthropic efforts, making links with many charities across the world, Decodyne has created hundreds of thousands of jobs across five continents. They have founded dozens of community projects in developing countries.

Now, Philip Lester claims that they are involved in unsavoury endeavours, like child labour, corruption and even human trafficking. Mr Lester has not a shred of evidence, because, as we will show during this trail, his accusations are wholly false.”

Keene delivered the entire speech while making eye contact with each juror in turn. His voice perfectly pitched to convey admiration and absurdity at exactly the right moments. He turned toward the judge.

“Thank you, your honour.”

 

Dan could feel the eyes of the court on him as he got to his feet. He turned to look at Phil, who was doodling on his notepad, apparently disinterested in the proceedings.

 _Must be nice,_ Dan thought ruefully, purposely kicking the leg of Phil’s chair before walking to the jury bench. Dan smiled, acting out a confidence he didn’t feel.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. My client, Phil Lester is accused of libel. To understand the charges against him, let me remind you of the definition of ‘libel’. Libel is a published false statement that is damaging to a person’s reputation, or a written defamation. If you don’t believe me, you can Google it.”

 

There were smiles and even a few chuckles, like Dan had hoped. He grinned at a juror number eight, a pretty redheaded young woman.

“I’d like to draw your attention to one word in that definition. ‘False’. Libel is a _false_ statement. I don’t think we need say more. Thank you.”

 

Dan watched the jury as he took his seat again. Shared looks, scribbled notes. Without any real opposition to the charges, it was the best they could hope for.

He could feel Phil shift in his seat as the article that had appeared on Wikileaks was read out, followed by a statement from Decodyne made the day after the Wikileaks post.

“Very well,” Judge Marsh said. “Council has listed witnesses and evidence. Court will be adjourned until the twenty-first of September, at eleven AM.”

 

Phil handed Dan back his notepad. He had drawn a lion, jaws wide, blood dripping from it’s fangs.

“Thanks,” Dan said and put the notepad inside Phil’s file.


	6. VI

**You’re breathing so I guess you’re still alive**

**Even if signs seem to tell me otherwise**

**Won’t you come just a bit closer**

**Close enough so I can smell you**

**I need you to feel this**

**I need this this to make me whole**

**There’s release in this sodomy**

**For I am your witness that**

**Blood and flesh can be trusted**

**And this one holy medium**

**Brings me peace of mind**

**I’ve got my hands bound**

**My head down**

**My eyes closed**

**And my throat wide open**

**I’ve come round full circle**

**My lamb and martyr, this will be over soon**

**Got your hands bound**

**Your head down**

**Your eyes closed**

**You look so precious now**

-   **Prison Sex, Tool**

 

“I need his name.”

“Whose name?”

“The name of your source.”

“No.”

“Goddamnit, Phil. I have two weeks to prepare some sort of defence, I need his fucking name.”

“John Smith.”

“Oh, haha, you’re so hilarious.” Dan rolled his eyes, sinking back into his seat and staring at his apartment ceiling.

“John Doe.”

“You’re a real comedian, aren’t you?”

“Buffy Summers.”

“Fine, I’ll just let you rot in prison for the next twenty years.”

 

Phil shrugged.

Dan threw his pen across the room. “Anything. Just tell me anything to put into the ‘why Phil is _not_ guilty’ box.”

“Edward Corcoran pays for sex with underage girls.”

“Do you have proof?”

“Check his credit card bills.”

“I’d need a warrant to do that.”

“So get one.”

“I need probable cause.”

“Speak to one of the girls.’

“Okay, where can I find them?”

“I don’t know.”

 

It took all of Dan’s willpower not to throw his coffee mug at Phil’s head, but he answered sarcastically: “Your help is quite invaluable.”

“Thanks.”

Dan looked around, picked up a Totoro plushie and threw it at Phil. It bounced off his chest and landed in his lap.

“Violence is never the answer.”

Phil didn’t look away from the TV, where Sherlock and John were standing in a train car, waiting for a bomb to go off.

“No, but it is quite effective in getting to the answer,” Dan mumbled under his breath. He stood up to make more coffee.

 

It didn’t help that Phil seemed utterly unconcerned with a looming prison sentence and the downfall of Dan’s career. He’d been wandering around Dan’s apartment in his pyjamas for the past two days, refusing to give Dan any information to help win this case and eating handfuls of Dan’s cereal as if there was no other food in the house.

Dan stirred the coffee with enough force to make it slosh over the sides of the mugs, and sighed in annoyance as he reached for a cloth to mop up the mess.

 

He walked back to the lounge, handing Phil his coffee and taking a sip of his own as he sat on the couch.

“I know someone who might talk to you.”

Dan’s head snapped toward Phil so fast he cricked his neck.

“Who?”

“This guy who used to be an accountant for Decodyne. Ben Hanscom.”

Dan got up and picked up his laptop from the table. He sat back down and did a quick search for Ben Hanscom.

 

“Is this him?” He asked Phil, turning the laptop to show the picture on the screen of a middle-aged man sitting behind a desk.

Phil squinted at the picture. “Yeah, probably.”

Dan figured that was good enough. The picture was displayed on the website of an accounting firm named Gordon & Sadler, along with half a dozen other accountants, none of whom where named Gordon or Sadler.

Dan picked up his phone to make an appointment for the following day, his gaze going to Phil, who was still watching Sherlock, now hugging the Totoro plushie.

 

“Mr Hanscom, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

Dan smiled at the paunchy man as he took a seat across from his desk. Hanscom’s office was luxurious, though a bit overdone on the wood panelling in Dan’s opinion.

“You’re welcome, Mr Howell. Now how may I be of service?”

“Mr Hanscom, you used to work at Decodyne Industries, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Hanscom shifted his bulk in his chair. “But that was a long time ago.”

“I’m a lawyer, Mr Hanscom,” Dan told him. “My client is being sued by Decodyne Industries for libel.”

 

Hanscom’s pink face paled slightly. “I seem to recall reading something about that in the paper.”

Dan put on his best ‘I-really-really-need-your-help’ face, leaning toward Hanscom.

“Mr Hanscom, my client will go to prison if I can’t prove that he wasn’t lying about Decodyne’s shady dealings.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr Howell.”

“Mr Hanscom – “ Dan started.

“No, Mr Howell. Now I have to ask you to please leave.”

Dan gave Hanscom a steady look as he got up.

“Goodbye, Mr Hanscom.”

 

“What did he say?” Phil asked the moment Dan walked into the apartment. He leaned against the wall, watching Dan take off his coat.

“He said he can’t help.”

Phil frowned, crossing his arms. “So what now?”

“Now you give me more information. Like how you got the stuff in that Wikileaks article in the first place.”

“I told you. Someone said I should have a look, so I did.”

“Where did you look, exactly?”

“The internet.” Phil turned and started to walk away, but Dan stayed on his heels.

“Where on the internet? Can you send me a link?”

Phil didn’t reply, just continued walking.

“Did you hack them?” Dan asked, even though the answer was obvious.

Phil shrugged.

“Who told you to take a look at Decodyne?”

 

They were standing at the door to Phil’s bedroom. Phil still had his back to Dan, his hand on the door handle.

“I’m not giving you his name.”

“Why the fuck not?!” Dan didn’t mean to raise his voice. He definitely didn’t expect Phil to flinch.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Phil opened the door, turning halfway toward Dan. “If I give you his name, he’ll definitely go to prison. I could get through twenty years, he won’t last two months. So stop asking.”

“Phil, we could make a deal for him, grant him immunity in exchange for testifying or something.”

“No.” Phil slammed the door in Dan’s face.

 

Dan huffed in frustration and trudged back downstairs to make lunch.

He rummaged in the fridge, taking out ham, cheese, lettuce, mustard and tomato. He hummed to himself while he made two sandwiches, then he took the one without cheese upstairs. Dan knocked on Phil’s door.

“Phil, please open the – “

He was cut off by the door swinging inward.

“I brought you a sandwich, I thought you might be...”

 

Dan’s voice trailed away as he realised Phil was wearing only a pair of cookie monster pyjama bottoms, his purple shirt bundled up in one fist. Dan hadn’t seen Phil in anything less than long sleeved shirts, and couldn’t help but stare at the colourful patterns inked into his pale skin. Pokémon, videogame characters, animals, monsters, all vying for space between dark, symmetrical designs Dan recognised as blocks of code, laid out like a chessboard. Dan swallowed, bringing his eyes back to Phil’s face with some difficulty, following the tattoo of wires snaking across his shoulders and up his neck, disappearing beneath his hairline.

Phil’s face was inscrutable.

 

Dan held the plate out to him, his eyes dropping to the tattoo of a roaring lion on Phil’s forearm as he took it.

“Thank you,” Phil said, his voice low.

“You’re welcome.” Dan licked his lips, turning away before he did something stupid, like press his lips to Phil’s tattooed skin, just to taste it.

 _Don’t be an idiot,_ Dan chided himself, _he’s your client._


	7. VII

**Age twelve and it isn’t going well**

**Now it’s three years to the day**

**Confused, but unlike you**

**This feeling won’t go away**

**Seventeen, all he’s ever seen**

**Is living in between the lies**

**It’s kind of funny how a mind**

**Can keep living in denial**

**Eighteen is a very strange scene**

**He’s still playing with the past**

**Expelled, maybe someone could’ve helped**

**If someone had known to ask**

**I waited for mum to comfort me**

**But when I opened my mouth**

**‘Don’t say nothing, shh’**

-   **Howard’s Tale, Sick Puppies**

 

The next morning, Dan went back to Ben Hanscom’s office.

“You don’t have an appointment,” Hanscom uttered as he walked into his office to find Dan leaning against his desk.

“Mr Hanscom, I’m here to ask for your help again.”

“I’ve already told you that I can’t help you, Mr Howell.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about that,” Dan said, picking up a pen from Hanscom’s desk and twirling it between his fingers. “See, I think the reason you’re unwilling to help is because you not only knew what Decodyne were doing, you helped cover it up.”

“How dare you?!” Hanscom’s face went red, then purple. “How dare you accuse me of... of being _involved_ in their dealings?”

 

Dan raised an eyebrow.

“Get out.”

“No,” Dan said casually. “You can either help me keep an innocent man out of prison, or I can make damn sure you end up there with him.”

Hanscom walked around his desk, sinking weakly into his chair.

“What do you want from me?”

“The truth. And in exchange, I’ll get you immunity.”

“And protection.” Hanscom’s pudgy fingers were white-knuckled around the edge of his desk.

Dan thought of the fading ligature marks around Phil’s throat, and nodded. “Of course, Mr Hanscom.”

 

The twenty-first of September was overcast. Phil followed Dan into the courtroom, tugging at the tie Dan made him wear. He took a deep breath, took his seat, took the notepad Dan held out to him. Then the judge entered, everyone stood, everyone sat back down. Phil picked up a pen, letting the nib hover over the paper, but couldn’t think of anything to draw.

“The court calls doctor Stanley Uris to the stand.”

 

Phil looked up as his psychiatrist swore to tell the truth and took the seat at the front of the courtroom, pushing his wire-framed glasses higher up his nose with a jerky movement.

Keene stood up.

“Dr Uris, when did Philip Lester first become your patient?”

“In May 2000.”

“How old was Mr Lester then?”

“He was thirteen.”

“Why did he see you?”

“His foster parents believed that he was troubled.”

“Was he? Troubled, I mean?”

“Well, yes.”

“Can you describe Philip Lester’s mental state at that time to the court?”

 

Dan interjected. “Objection, your honour, I do not see how my client’s mental state fifteen years ago is relevant in this case.”

“Your honour,” Keene said, “Mr Lester’s mental health may be a factor in his illegal conduct in this case.”

“Objection overruled,” Judge Marsh said. “Dr Uris, please answer the question.”

Phil glanced at Dan, who was staring at the doctor with narrowed eyes.

“Philip Lester was displaying behaviour consistent with Antisocial Personality Disorder. He had a clear lack of empathy, he had a reduced capacity for feelings of guilt and he had rather a talent for manipulating other people, child and adult alike.”

 

“Dr Uris, can you define the term Antisocial Personality Disorder for the court?”

“Antisocial Personality Disorder is a disorder where a person shows utter disregard for the basic rights of other people. People with this disorder are sometimes referred to as psychopaths or sociopaths.”

“So, Philip Lester is a psychopath?”

“No, I believe him to be a sociopath.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

 

Keene took his seat as Dan stood up. Phil watched him, tugging again at his tie.

“Doctor Uris, do you know what percentage of the world’s population has Antisocial Personality Disorder?”

“It’s estimated to be between two and five percent.”

“And of these, what percentage show signs of criminality?”

“An estimated twenty-three percent.”

“So less than a third of those with ASPD are likely to be criminals, correct?”

“Yes.”

“In your opinion, knowing that Philip Lester does not have a criminal record, does he fall into that twenty-three percent?”

“In my opinion, no.”

“No further questions, your honour.”

 

Dan sat down again, and Phil could breathe a little easier.

“The court calls Philip Lester to the stand.”

Dan gave Phil a reassuring smile as he got slowly to his feet. The walk up to the stand was uncomfortable, all those gazes burning Phil’s skin. He hung his head, letting his hair fall into his face, then reached up to push his fringe away from his eyes. He remembered Dan’s coaching these last couple of weeks, sitting at the kitchen counter, eating dry cereal, answering questions, over and over, truthfully.

 

Phil placed his hand on the leather bound Bible being held out to him.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do,” Phil said and took his seat.

Keene stood up, walking toward Phil with a shark like grin on his face.

“Mr Lester, do you consider yourself to be an honest person?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a criminal record?”

“No.” Phil felt short of breath, clenched his hands to prevent him from tugging at his tie again.

“That’s not exactly an honest answer, is it, Mr Lester.”

 

“Objection, your honour,” Dan’s voice called out, but Phil and Keene didn’t look away from each other.

“Mr Keene,” the judge said, “Mr Lester has no criminal record.”

“Your honour,” Keene walked toward the table where Rogan and Corcoran were sitting. He took a file and handed it to the bailiff. “Mr Lester has a sealed record.”

The judge opened the file the bailiff handed her. Her eyes widened slightly as she read through whatever was in the file.

Phil closed his eyes.

“Your honour, we believe the contents of that file is relevant to this case, and request it be unsealed.”

“Request granted. Mr Lester’s criminal record is entered into evidence for this case.”

 

Phil opened his eyes, avoiding Dan’s gaze.

“Mr Lester, do you have a criminal record?”

“Yes,” Phil looked at Keene.

“Mr Lester, you were convicted of attempted murder and remanded to a juvenile detention facility for five years, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But your sentence was suspended, and you were placed in foster care, under the supervision of Doctor Uris, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why was your sentence suspended?”

“The judge ruled that I had acted in self-defence.”

“So, just to get all the facts straight, you stabbed your stepfather six times with a knife, in self-defence. Is that right?”

 

“Yes,” Phil said, still looking only at Keene.

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

“What were you defending yourself from, that required such violent retaliation?”

“Him.”

“Was he hurting you?”

Phil blinked black spots out of his vision, and took a deep breath.

“Yes.” It came out as a whisper.

“Mr Lester, you said that you are an honest person. Did you act merely in self-defence, or did you want to hurt your stepfather?”

‘Objection, your honour!’

‘Overruled. Mr. Lester, please answer the question.’

Phil swallowed heavily, tasting bile at the back of his throat.

‘Yes, I did.’

There was a collective gasp that echoed through Phil’s mind. He closed his eyes.


	8. VIII

**Oh no, how could this happen to**

**Such an amazing young boy**

**I had my whole life ahead of me**

**Oh God, how could you have let this happen**

**To such a lovely young child**

**I was their only son and I tried, tried, tried**

-   **Dead Man’s Ballet, Sixx:A.M**

 

Dan kept quiet the whole way to his apartment building, up the stairs and into his kitchen. He switched the kettle on. Then he rounded on Phil.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” It took all his self-control to keep his voice down.

“The records were sealed, I was a minor.”

“Oh, right, because it’s insanely difficult to open SEALED RECORDS!”

 

Phil recoiled slightly, his normally pale face as white as paper.

“For god’s sake, Phil, I’m trying to keep you out of prison and all I’m asking is for you to trust me with the information I need to do it!”

“I’m not all that trusting.”

“You don’t fucking say!”

Phil took a few steps backward, his hair falling into his eyes.

Dan turned to get mugs out of the cupboard.

“Is there anything, anything at all, that you need to tell me before we go back to court next week?”

“Kay McCall.”

“Who is Kay McCall?” Dan poured boiling water into the mugs.

“She’s a prostitute. Her name was the only one we could link to Corcoran. She was one of the first, back when he was stupid and the internet wasn’t quite so smart. She might talk to you, for a price.”

Dan nodded and handed Phil a One Direction mug.

 

Phil went to bed right after dinner, but couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight.

“Phil,” a quiet voice woke Phil from his dreamless sleep. He felt his mattress give as the dark figure sat down. He opened his eyes when he felt a warm hand against his chest. Dry, slightly chapped lips pressed against his, and Phil moaned. Another hand stroked over his hip. Phil squirmed. His eyes closed again as the kiss deepened. He let out another quiet moan as a hand wrapped around his cock. His hips jerked forward involuntarily and the kiss was interrupted by a soft laugh from the man above him.

 

“Do you like that?” He stroked once more along Phil’s length. Phil choked back another sound. He could feel goose bumps along every inch of his skin, heat spreading across his cheeks.

“Don’t,” he said, immediately regretting it as sharp nails dug into his hypersensitive skin.

“What did you say, boy?”

Phil shook his head, clamping his lips shut.

“I wanted to make you feel good tonight –“ rough hands on his shoulders, forcing him onto his stomach, spreading his legs “– instead, I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

 

He heard his stepfather spit into his hand, then pain, burning agony as he forced himself into Phil.

“This is what you get for talking back, you little shit.”

A hand clamped down on the back of Phil’s neck, keeping his face pressed into the pillow, muffling his sobs until his lungs screamed for air.

 

Phil jerked awake, gasping for air between loud, choking sobs. The door burst open and a figure came toward him, saying his name. Phil tried to move away, escape, wake up, before realising it was Dan.

He was in Dan’s apartment, in the bedroom next to Dan’s.

“Phil?” Dan’s voice in the dark, close to him.

 

Phil blinked, realised tears were blurring his vision, wiped his eyes. Without thinking, he leaned forward, fingers of his right hand weaving into Dan’s curls, pulling him closer. He pressed his lips to Dan’s, feeling them warm and soft beneath his. Dan kissed back, one hand against the side of Phil neck, soft and careful, the other on his chest. Phil lay back, pulling Dan down on top of him, not breaking the kiss. Dan gave a little gasp against his lips as Phil lifted his hips to rub their erections together.

“Phil, we shouldn’t do this,” Dan murmured, but his voice held no conviction, his hands trailing down Phil’s sides.

 

“I don’t care, I want you,” Phil murmured.

“Fuck,” Dan moaned as Phil slipped a hand inside his pants. “God, I want you, too, so much.”

Phil flipped Dan over, onto his back, and smiled down at him in the darkness. Dan tugged Phil down for another kiss. Their clothes were shed quickly and Phil trailed kisses down Dan’s chest and stomach. He took the head of Dan’s cock between his lips, enjoying the sound of Dan gasping his name. He dipped his head down, hollowing his cheeks as he moved his mouth along Dan’s length.

He teased Dan, continuing his movements until...

 

“Phil, fuck me, please just fuck me already!”

Phil smiled, moving up Dan’s body to capture his lips in a wet kiss.

“Lube?” He asked and Dan pointed toward the dresser.

“Bottom drawer.”

Phil got up to retrieve the lube and a condom, then returned to Dan, kneeling between his spread legs. He squeezed a generous amount of the gel onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm up before slipping a hand between Dan’s legs. Dan moaned beautifully as Phil slipped a finger inside his tight hole, his breath coming in little pants that made Phil’s cock twitch eagerly. After working three fingers into Dan, making sure he would be comfortable, Phil leaned over him. He kissed across Dan’s neck, sucking lightly at the soft skin as he pushed into Dan.

 

“Feel good?” Phil asked, staying as still as possible.

“Yes,” Dan moaned. “Please move.”

Phil kissed him, pulling out and thrusting slowly back in.

Dan made an unintelligible noise and Phil repeated the movement, angling his hips slightly to go deeper and Dan’s eyes flew open.

“Phil, of fuck, oh fuck.”

Phil thrust into him again and again, hitting that spot each time and watched as Dan unravelled underneath him. His face was flushed, lips parted in a gasp, and Phil felt his chest constrict. He’d never met anyone like Dan, and he thought he might be happy staying here forever, making him feel good.

 

Phil curled his fingers around Dan’s cock, and the younger man’s hips tilted upward, the movement making Phil grit his teeth to keep from coming. He sped up his thrusts, pumping Dan’s cock in time with the rhythm of his hips and Dan let out a low moan.

“Phil...”

Phil watched as Dan’s orgasm washed across his body, finally seeking his own released as Dan shivered beneath him, his sticky juices coating Phil’s hand and his own stomach.

 

Much later, after they had cleaned themselves up, Dan turned to face Phil.

“You asleep?” he whispered.

“No.”

“What was your nightmare about?”

Phil sighed quietly. “My stepfather.”

“Did he hit you?”

“Sometimes.”

“And the other times?”

Phil turned onto his back, putting a few inches of space between him and Dan.

“That bad?” Dan asked. He didn’t move to close the space and Phil turned his head toward him. In the darkness, his eyes shone silver.

“The irony is that my foster parents were much worse.”

 

Phil lifted his left arm, tracing a line along his skin with the index finger of his other hand. Dan raised himself up on one elbow to look closer. It was a long, pink scar, half hidden by a tattooed Gengar.

“What happened?”

“I bit him.”

“Your foster father?”

“Yeah. It was the last time he made me suck his cock, though.”

Phil’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact and Dan felt a shiver run down his spine.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, knowing how empty and stupid it was to say.

“Why are you sorry? I enjoyed sucking your cock.”

Phil gave a little half-smile and Dan felt his face heat in a blush.

“Don’t joke about stuff like that.”

Phil smiled a little wider. “I apologize, Mr Howell.”

“Apology accepted, Mr Lester.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Knowing about that, I mean?”

“No,” Dan said truthfully. “Not uncomfortable. Sad, maybe, that you went through that.”

 

Phil was quiet, his eyes still on Dan’s face.

“Why do you ask?” Dan queried after a few seconds.

“I thought you might be a bit freaked out.”

Dan shook his head. Then it occurred to him that a sociopath shouldn’t care about him being freaked out.

Before he could say anything else, he realized Phil was asleep.

 


	9. IX

**You've raped**  
I feel dirty  
It hurt  
As a child  
Tied down  
That's a good boy  
And fucked  
Your own child  
I scream  
No one hears me  
It hurt  
I'm not a liar  
My God  
Saw you watching  
Mommy why?  
Your own child  
  
It's alright  
  
I didn't touch you there  
Mama said she didn't care  
I didn't touch you there  
That's why mama stopped and stared  
  
I fucking hate you! Motherfucker!  
Motherfucker! I fucking hate you! Fuck You!  
You son of a bitch, you fucking ruined my life!  
I wanted to die!  
I'm sick of it, motherfucker.... oh oh  
Why'd you fuckin' do it to me?  
I Hate You!  
I Fuckin' Hate You!  
I Hate You!  
Why?!  
I Hate You!

-   **Daddy, Korn**

 

The following day, Dan went down to the brothel where Kay McCall was last employed. It was dark and smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke, and Dan felt a gnawing sense of claustrophobia creeping up on him as he stepped toward the lingerie-clad woman standing behind a narrow counter.

 

“I’m looking for Kay McCall,” Dan said to her.

“You must mean Candy,” the woman said.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“One hour?”

“Uhm, yeah.”

“Alright, honey, wait here a sec.”

 

The woman returned, followed by a girl wearing a mini skirt and a tank top, her blonde hair a cloud of curls around her face. She led Dan to a back room, furnished with a bed, a sink and a dresser. She reached out to undo the buttons on Dan’s shirt, but he stepped back.

“I’d like to talk to you. You are Kay McCall, right?”

“Yes.” She was frowning, scratching at a bruise in the crook of her elbow. Track marks, Dan realized.

“Miss McCall, my name is Dan Howell. I’m a lawyer.”

 

“Did I do something wrong?” She moved backward to sit on the bed.

“No. Actually, I need your help. Do you know a man by the name of Edward Corcoran?”

She nodded slowly, scratching harder at the track marks on her slender arm.

“Miss McCall, how do you know Edward Corcoran?”

“He paid my mum lots of money to have sex with me. But that was a long time ago.”

“How old were you, Kay?” Dan asked gently.

“’Bout seven, I think.”

“Kay, I’m in the middle of a court case that I may be able to win, if you are willing to tell that to a judge.”

“I dunno,” she said, shifting uncomfortably.

“An innocent man may go to jail for the rest of his life, Kay, and you can stop that from happening.”

She looked up at Dan and nodded slowly.

 

Dan took a shower as soon as he got home, washing off the dirty feeling of having to pay a brothel, even though he never touched Kay McCall.

He pulled on a pair of track pants and a t-shirt, leaving his hair in a hobbit-like state. Phil was in the lounge, reading Dan’s copy of A Clash of Kings.

 

“Did she agree?” he asked as Dan sat next to him.

“Yes, surprisingly. Though I’m not sure how we can link Corcoran’s paedophilia to Decodyne.”

“Easily.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“Corcoran is in charge of the import and export of the kids they eventually sell to brothels like the one where Kay McCall works. All you need is for the police to take a closer look.”

“This seems too easy,” Dan mumbled. “Decodyne can’t be this careless.”

“They’re not,” Phil said darkly.

 

Dan was woken by the shrill ringing of his phone. He reached blindly for it, squinting at the too-bright screen.

_Unknown number._

The time blinked 02:33 in the corner of the screen.

“Hello,” Dan answered, sitting up, reaching to the other side of his bed when he felt Phil move against him. His hand found Phil’s as a frail voice on the other side whispered; “Mr Howell, help me.”

 

“Who is this?”

“It’s Kay. I think someone wants to – “

“Kay?”

A scream, then silence on the other side of the phone.

“Kay?!”

The line went dead, a droning beep sounding in Dan’s ear.

 

Dan’s hand shook as he phoned the police. He gripped Phil’s hand as he explained the phone call to a tired sounding constable.

“Do you have reason to believe she is in danger, sir?” the sleep constable asked and Dan felt like screaming.

“Yes! She is a witness in trial.”

The constable asked a few more inane questions before ending the call.

“Get dressed,” Dan told Phil, getting out of bed.

 

They met two bleary eyes constables in front of the brothel.

“What happened?” Dan asked them after identifying himself.

“It seems she’s a runaway. Madam said she packed her bags, stole some gear and left.”

“And you’re just going to take her word for it?”

“Kid, this happens all the time. She’ll probably be back in a few weeks, jonesin’ for a fix.”

 

Dan opened his mouth to argue, but Phil tugged on his sleeve, pulling him away from the brothel.

They walked in silence for a while, turning corners blindly.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Dan looked at Phil.

“Considering what happened to me in that holding cell, yes, she probably is dead.”

“It’s my fault.” Dan stopped walking.

“It’s Decodyne’s fault,” Phil said, coming to stand in front of Dan.

“But, if I hadn’t asked her to testify...”

“Don’t do that,” Phil murmured, putting his arms around Dan, hugging him tight. “It is not your fault.”

 

Dan didn’t say anything. Phil held him for a little while, then took his hand, walking a little further before hailing a cab.

Once back in Dan’s apartment, Phil made the younger man a cup of warm milk with honey and told him to go to bed.

“Sleep with me?” Dan asked.

Phil nodded, getting into bed with Dan, holding him until he fell asleep.

 

The next morning, Phil let Dan pick an anime while he made them cereal and coffee. Dan gave him a grateful smile.

“I must seem like such a baby.”

“No. You care.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“For caring? Don’t be daft.”

“Ah, there’s my little sociopath.”

Phil smiled, lightly hitting Dan with a Pikachu cushion.

“Violence is never the answer.” Dan said with a mock-serious expression.

 

A sudden knock on the door interrupted Phil’s comeback. Dan got up to answer it, Phil following on his heels, his expression apprehensive.

Dan opened the door to reveal a young man with blue eyes and blonde hair, wearing black from head to toe.

“Hi, Phil.”

“Martyn?” Phil said from behind Dan. “What the fuck are you doing here?”


	10. X

**When I blur my eyes**

**They make the whole world breathe**

**I see you fucking me**

**And I am absolutely controlling every urge**

**To mutilate – the one and only answer**

**So much for memories**

**I wanna dress in your insecurities**

**And be the perfect you**

**I’m through**

**I’m out-stretched out for all to loathe**

**Here we go – the ultimate irony**

-   **Metabolic, Slipknot**

 

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” Martyn asked. He was sitting at the kitchen counter while Dan made coffee.

“No, I’m not. I told you to stay the fuck out of this.”

“Why are you swearing so much, Phil?” Martyn looked rather amused.

Phil turned his back, watching Dan’s confused expression as he stirred coffee.

 

“Who exactly are you?” Dan asked as he handed Martyn a mug.

“I’m Martyn.”

“Uh huh.”

“He’s my brother.” Phil supplied.

“You have a brother?”

“We’re not real brothers,” Martyn said, like it should be obvious. “My parents were Phil’s foster parents.”

 

Dan glanced from Phil to Martyn, back to Phil, the question obvious on his face.

“No,” Phil said quietly to Dan.

“No, what?” Martyn asked.

“None of your business, Martyn.”

“How old are you?” Dan asked him.

“Nineteen, why?”

“Just asking.” Dan took a sip of his coffee. “Uh, how did you know Phil was here?”

“He put your address on the form.”

“What form?”

“The one he had to fill out after he got bail.”

“And how did you get a copy of that form?”

Martyn smiled. “Easily.”

“He hacked them,” Phil told Dan.

 

“Great,” Dan said. Then his eyes met Phil, suddenly wide. _It was him?_ Dan mouthed at Phil behind Martyn’s back.

Phil nodded, trying to wordlessly communicate to Dan that he couldn’t do anything with that information.

“So, Martyn, are you going to be staying the night?” Dan motioned vaguely toward the rucksack that he’d dropped in the doorway.

“Yep, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

 

Dan motioned to Phil to follow him toward his bedroom.

“I really don’t think now’s a good time to have sex, Dan.”

“Oh shut up,” Dan said, but a blush coloured his cheeks, making Phil smile.

“So explain that to me,” Dan motioned in the general direction of the kitchen.

Phil sighed. “He works for Decodyne, in the IT department. Martyn’s too curious for his own good.”

Dan nodded. “That’s why you refused to give me his name. You were trying to protect him.”

 

Phil nodded.

“You’ve been doing that his whole life, haven’t you.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“But I’m right. I wondered why you didn’t run away from your foster family. Or do something else. It was because of him, wasn’t it.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.”

“Sociopaths don’t let themselves be hurt to protect other people. Especially not people who aren’t even related to them.”

“When did you become a psychiatrist?” Phil asked angrily. “If I wanted to be psychoanalysed, I’d go back to Uris.”

“Phil,” Dan started, but Phil cut him off.

“Just shut up, Dan.” He left the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

 

Phil went back to the kitchen to grab Martyn’s bag, taking it to his room. He could hear Martyn and Dan talking downstairs. Phil felt a weight pressing against his chest, making it hard to breathe. Martyn was never supposed to be involved in this, the dumbass kid. Phil sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, trying desperately to make his lungs work, to draw oxygen into his starving blood. Black spots swam before his eyes, and he dropped to his knees on the carpet. Vaguely aware that he was having a panic attack, Phil gasped for air, tried to breathe, breathe before he blacked out.

_You’re no good to anyone unconscious,_ he told himself. _Stop being such a worthless pussy. Stop being so goddamn weak, you piece of shit, breathe, breathe_ breathe breathe breathe...

Phil felt the bile rise in the back of his throat. Somehow he made it to his feet, made it downstairs, made it to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet, before throwing up.

 

“Phil?” Dan’s voice behind him, he’d forgotten to lock the door.

_You stupid cunt, you forgot to lock the door, you stupid worthless fucking waste of air._

Phil felt Dan’s hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles as he emptied his stomach.

“Are you okay?” Dan asked when Phil sat up.

He nodded shakily.

Dan got up. Phil heard the tap running, then a cool cloth was pressed into his hand. He wiped his face, and Dan handed him a glass of water. Phil took a sip, rinsing his mouth and spitting the water into the toilet, which Dan flushed.

 

Phil got to his feet, ignoring the hand Dan held out to him. He brushed his teeth, avoiding his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dan asked when he was done.

“Yeah,” Phil murmured. “It must’ve been something I ate. Are you feeling ill?”

“No.”

Phil knew Dan wasn’t fooled. He looked away, and his gaze fell on Martyn, whose expression told Phil he knew exactly what had happened.

Phil murmured something about lying down, heading back upstairs to his room.

 

Dan followed Martyn back to the lounge, glancing over his shoulder at the stairs where Phil had disappeared. They were quiet a long while, the TV playing reruns of Easter Enders the only source of noise.

Finally, Dan turned to Martyn.

“Why are you really here?”

“To help Phil, of course.”

“He doesn’t want to involve you.”

“He’s such an idiot sometimes. I started it all. I already am involved.”

“He thinks you’ll be in danger.”

“He’s right. He knew it from the moment that guy tried to strangle him in his cell.”

 

Dan nodded. “But you want to help anyway?”

“Yep. And I’ve got the proof you need.”

“You do?!”

“Yeah. But you’ll have to put me on the stand too.”

“Why?”

“Because I know where I found the documents proving Decodyne’s involvement. If you just give the judge copies, she’ll say they were faked.”

“But you hacked them. No way they won’t press charges.”

“I didn’t hack them, though. I was given security clearance.”

“And they haven’t silenced you yet?”

Martyn lifted up his shirt, showing Dan a bandage covering his chest.

“They tried to. Except the idiot missed my heart.”

“Oh god,” Dan breathed. He suddenly felt way out of his depth.

“Dan, I may have been a kid, but I knew what my parents did to Phil. I owe him more than my life. I’m not just gonna stand idle while he gets sent to prison.”

 

Dan nodded. “Do you know the name of the guy Phil gave the Decodyne info to? The one who posted it to Wikileaks?”

Martyn smiled. “Yes, yes I do.”

“Phil will never trust me again after this.”

“Phil never trusts anyone, Dan.”


	11. XI

**New blood joins this earth**

**And quickly he’s subdued**

**Through constant pained disgrace**

**The young boy learns their rules**

**With time the child draws in**

**This whipping boy done wrong**

**Deprived of all his thoughts**

**The young man struggles on and on he’s known**

**A vow unto his own**

**That never from this day**

**His will they’ll take away**

**What I’ve felt**

**What I’ve known**

**Never shined through in what I’ve shown**

**Never be**

**Never see**

**Won’t see what might have been**

-   **The Unforgiven, Metallica**

 

Dan couldn’t believe he was lying to a client about his defence, much less that he was lying to Phil.

Phil, who he was pretty sure he was in love with.

And yet, he and Martyn had built a case behind Phil’s back, both knowing they were risking their lives and Phil’s. Dan had made sure to arrange extra security for his building, digging into his savings to do so.

 

Their next court date arrived and Dan fidgeted nervously in the cab next to Phil. They hadn’t so much as touched hands since Martyn had arrived and Dan fought the urge to pull him in for a hungry kiss.

 _Stop,_ Dan chastised himself, _win the case first._

Dan was also fairly certain that Phil felt nothing for him aside from passing attraction. Sure, Dr Uris would chalk that up the Phil’s ASPD, but Dan didn’t think Phil had Antisocial Personality Disorder. Phil just carried the damage from years of abuse.

 

Dan shook himself out of his thoughts as the cab pulled up to the courthouse. This was it. This was the boss fight.

 

“The court calls William Denbrough to the stand.”

Phil looked up sharply. He had been doodling on Dan’s notepad like always, but now the pen dropped from his fingers. His gaze flickered from Billy, who was swearing on the Bible, to Dan, who avoided his eyes.

 

“Mr Denbrough,” Dan asked, “what is your relationship to Philip Lester?”

“We’re friends.”

Dan nodded. “Did Mr Lester give you documents detailing illegal activities by Decodyne Industries?”

Billy looked at Phil, then back to Dan. “Yes.”

“What did Mr Lester ask you to do with these documents?”

“He wanted them sent to MI6, the FBI, CIA and Interpol and news corporations.”

“Was Wikileaks one of the intended recipients?”

“No.”

“Then how did those documents end up being posted to Wikileaks?”

“I uploaded them.”

“Mr Denbrough, might I remind you that perjury is a crime?”

“I’m not lying.” Billy looked at Phil again.

“Did you alter the documents before uploading them?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I redacted some information, altered some, to make it look fake.”

“Why did you alter the documents before posting them?”

“I was paid.”

“By whom, Mr Denbrough?”

“Edward Corcoran.”

“No further questions, your honour.”

 

Keene got to his feet.

“Mr Denbrough, do you have any proof of this payment?”

 

Dan got to his feet, holding a folder out to the bailiff. “Your honour, here are William Denbrough’s financial records, including details of a sum of one hundred thousand pounds paid into his account from one of Decodyne Industries’ more _obscure_ bank accounts.”

The bailiff took the folder to the judge, who looked through the documents.

Finally the judge nodded. Dan gave a tiny smile as Keene muttered “No further questions, you honour,” with a sour expression.

Edward Corcoran seemed to be beyond words, his face a livid red.

 

“The court calls Ben Hanscom to the stand.”

 

Dan stood up.

 

“Mr Hanscom, you used to work for Decodyne Industries as an accountant, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Did Decodyne Industries ever divert funds into illegal projects?”

“Yes, they did.”

“How do you know this?”

“I was responsible for hiding the missing money.”

“Where was this money going?”

“Mostly toward a human trafficking enterprise operating out of London. Some money went to factories in underdeveloped countries that used child labour.”

“Why did you never report this to the police?”

“They threatened my daughter.”

“Did they continue the threats after you resigned?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions, your honour.”

 

Dan took his seat and Keene walked toward the witness stand.

 

“You alleged that Decodyne threatened your daughter. What do these threats entail?”

“I received a letter, every fortnight, stating that she would be taken and placed with other girls in a... a brothel.”

Hanscom had turned a faint shade of green.

“Your honour,” Dan was once again holding a folder out the bailiff, this one much thicker than the previous one. “The letters that had been sent to Mr Hanscom.”

The judge paged through them. Phil looked at Dan who was watching the judge.

“Do you have further questions for the witness, Mr Keene?” The judge eventually asked, setting aside the folder.

“No, your honour.”

 

Dan finally turned to look at Phil. He mouthed _I’m sorry._

 

“The courts call Martyn Lester to the stand.”

 

Phil felt his breath catch in his throat. _No. How could he?_

 

“Mr Lester,” Dan said, “what is your relationship to Philip Lester?”

“My parents fostered Phil from the age of thirteen.”

“Where are you currently employed?”

“At Decodyne Industries.”

“What position to you fill?”

“I’m an IT consultant.”

“Mr Lester, have your employers ever asked you to do something illegal?”

“Yes. About six months ago, I was called into the CTO’s office. Edward Corcoran and Decodyne’s CEO Richard Tozier were there. They told me they needed someone they could trust, who was comfortable _bending the rules._ They told me that I’d get a raise, a better office, a company car. They said that all I had to do was hide certain documents, transactions, names and dates.”

“What did you do then?”

“I told them I accept. It took almost four months to collect enough information to bring down Decodyne Industries.”

“Did you collect this information on you own?”

“No. I asked Phil to help.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“They threatened to kill him.”

“Who did they threaten to kill?”

“Phil.”

“What did you do when you had collected enough information?”

“Phil and I took it to Billy, I mean, William Denbrough. He was good at getting into systems as secure as Interpol’s. We trusted him to get the information to law enforcement.”

“How did they threaten to kill Phil?”

“I got letters, sometimes phone calls. After the first call, I started recording them.”

Dan walked back to the table, picked up a third file. “Your honour, a disc with the recordings of the phone calls Mr Lester just described, as well as transcripts of the calls.”

 

Phil saw Dan glance toward the jury, followed his gaze.

 

They had to wait two hours outside of the courtroom for the jury to make their decision. Martyn tried to talk to Phil, but he turned his back, turned up the volume of his iPod, and closed his eyes. Betrayal tasted bitter on the back of his tongue.

A light touch on his shoulder made him open his eyes. Dan was motioning toward the courtroom. His lips formed the words _they’ve decided,_ and Phil nodded.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached your decision?” Judge Marsh asked.

“Yes we have, your honour,” Juror three said. “We find the defendant, Philip Lester, not guilty of the charges brought against him.”

 

Phil remained silent, seething, all the way back to Dan’s apartment.

 

“Phil,” Dan started as they walked into his lounge. “I know you’re angry, but –“

“Angry?!” Phil rounded on Dan. “What the fuck were you thinking?! How could you do that?!”

“Phil,” Martyn interjected, but Phil shook his head.

“Get out, Martyn.”

“Get out?” Martyn looked hurt, and Phil instantly felt guilty.

“Just wait upstairs, please?”

Martyn looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “It was my idea, Phil.” He left before Phil could say anything else.

“Phil, Martyn just wanted to help,” Dan said quietly.

“He is nineteen years old! You were supposed to know better, Dan! He’s just a kid!”

“Phil...”

“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP. YOU WANTED ME TO TRUST YOU! AND THEN YOU GO AND DO THIS?!”

“Phil, you would be in prison if I didn’t.”

“THEN YOU SHOULD’VE LET ME GO TO PRISON!” Phil was breathing hard, his chest tight.

“Why?” Dan was too calm. Too quiet. Too observant. His intelligent brown eyes saw Phil, saw too much of Phil and he hated it.

“Because I belong there.” Phil was gasping for breath. _Not again, no, no, not again, breathe breathe you waste of skin, breathe, you worthless cocksucker..._

“No, you don’t,” Dan’s voice sounded far away. Phil felt his knees give beneath him. “Phil!”

Hands on Phil’s shoulders, warm breath on Phil’s cheek, Dan’s voice in his ears.

“You’re okay, Phil, just breathe, sweetheart, it’s okay. Take a deep breath for me, please?”

Phil did as he was told. Took a deep breath, took another, until his vision cleared.

“There you go, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Phil could feel Dan’s lips pressed against his temple. The soft touch galvanized him into action.

“Don’t touch me!” He pushed Dan away, suddenly on his feet. “I never want to see you, ever again.”

The words were delivered calmly, icily.

Phil looked away from Dan’s hurt expression. He left, texting Martyn to bring his stuff to his apartment.


	12. XII

**Like the naked leads the blind**

**I know I’m selfish, I’m unkind**

**Sucker love I always find**

**Someone to bruise and leave behind**

**All alone in space and time**

**There’s nothing here, but what here’s mine**

**Something borrowed, something blue**

**Every me and every you**

-   **Every You Every Me, Placebo**

 

Dan decided to start his own law firm, specialising in cases involving children. He refused to dwell on his motivation for doing this, instead leaving all the talking to his partner, PJ Liguori.

 

The firm of Liguori Howell did quite well in their first few months of business, and Dan felt happy that he’d emptied his savings into it. He spent most of his free time buried in cases, using the business as an excuse not to go home. PJ didn’t comment on it, and, after a while, neither did his secretary.

Her “you’re too young to work this hard” had changed to “goodnight, Mr Howell”.

 

After a particularly tiring day in court, Dan found himself rubbing his eyes behind his desk, wishing for some fairy to bring him a cup of coffee.

 

“You look terrible.”

 

Dan jumped at the voice, knocking the file he’d been going through to the floor. He blinked, sure his eyes must be playing tricks on him. Surely it couldn’t be...

“Phil?”

“Hi.” Phil held out a paper Starbucks cup. “I brought you coffee.”

“What are you doing here?”

Phil put the cup on his desk and shrugged.

“I heard about the new firm. I thought I’d come and congratulate you.”

“I thought you never wanted to see me, ever again.” Dan couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from his voice.

“I lied. Sociopaths do that sometimes.”

The levity in Phil’s tone fell flat.

Dan didn’t reply, his eyes wandering over Phil. He was wearing black skinny jeans, a black shirt, black jacket. His face was pale, with dark circles beneath his eyes.

“I wanted to apologize,” Phil finally said.

“Why?”

“Because I was wrong.”

“Is that it?” Dan asked.

“Is there more to say?” Phil cocked his head slightly, regarding Dan with unfathomable blue eyes.

 _Yes,_ Dan thought. “I suppose not,” he said.

Phil looked around the office, then back at Dan.

“Decodyne Industries collapsed, thanks to you and Martyn,” he said after a pause.

Dan shrugged.

“I heard they found Kay McCall’s body. I’m sorry,” Phil murmured when Dan stayed quiet.

“Did they ever arrest the man who tried to kill you?” Dan asked, reaching for the Starbucks cup.

“Yeah. He was the same guy who stabbed Martyn. He’s doing twenty-five to life.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Phil sat down in the chair across from Dan’s desk.

“So, I have some money from my real father, I thought about opening a children’s shelter, or something. I’m going to need some legal advice though. Do you know any good lawyers?”

Dan took a sip of his coffee. “Maybe.”

Phil smiled.

“Why are you really here, Phil?”

“I told you. To apologize.”

Dan looked down at the untidy pile of paperwork on his desk.

“I’m sorry, too, Phil. I really am.”

“And I miss you.”

Dan looked up. Phil’s blue eyes were half covered by his fringe, but his gaze was heated. Dan got up, walking around to Phil’s chair. He took Phil’s hand, pulling him to his feet, and kissed him.

Phil kissed him back, smiling against Dan’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
